


Friends In Low Places

by wyntera



Series: Dungeons And Noodle Dragons AU [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: D&D, Forgotten Realms - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Pathfinder AU, Peapod McHanzo Week, dungeons & dragons AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 16:34:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13252200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntera/pseuds/wyntera
Summary: Day 2 of Peapod McHanzo Week! Prompt: AU (We’re gonna do D&D)We rejoin our part in the Dungeons and Noodle Dragons AU! This time, with a more poison!





	Friends In Low Places

Of all the things Hanzo imagined when he allowed himself to fantasize about a life with McCree, he never factored in getting slapped in the face with a wing before fully waking up in the morning. To be fair, he has known about McCree’s wings for only a little more than twenty-four hours, but even if he had known he doubts something like this would have occurred to him. As such, getting whacked by a fluttering wing comes as a bit of a shock. Such is the life of the big spoon; some people get a mouthful of hair, he gets wings and horns.

Hanzo brings a hand up to block his face, keeping his touch gentle on the offending appendage. He is not really sure how delicate the wings are. The skin along the bones seems leathery but the webbing between looks almost paper-thin in places. And are the bones hollow like a bird’s? That is probably not an appropriate question to ask his new lover. Either way, the wings must be sensitive, as when Hanzo strokes one it folds in closer to McCree’s back. Hanzo scoots forward and squeezes at McCree’s side, nuzzling his shoulder. “Jesse?”

The answering noise is more huff and whine than words, the tiefling turning more fully into the pillow.

“Jesse,” Hanzo tries again. He rocks forward and back a few times, jostling McCree in the process. “Jesse, it is morning.”

He response with a deep inhale and a puffed out, “Mmm hmm?” 

“I am hungry.”

“Mmm.”

“We should go down for breakfast.” When McCree does not answer, Hanzo gives him another shake. “Jesse.”

“M’awake,” McCree finally mumbles. Not the most convincing answer, but at least those are real words. He shifts and rolls to burrow into Hanzo’s chest, thick arms snaking around Hanzo’s waist and anchoring them together. “Too early.”

Hanzo laughs, ruffling his fingers through McCree’s dark hair and letting his fingers play along one horn. “But I am hungry.” Another whine that brings more laughter. “I could bring you something?”

“Mmm, knew there was a reason I liked you,” McCree murmurs into the skin of Hanzo’s chest, pressing an open-mouthed kiss there. He leans up to peer at Hanzo with eyes squinty from sleep. “Coffee?”

“The blackest I can find,” Hanzo promises. They kiss briefly, then not-so-briefly, then with enough vigor that Hanzo nearly forgets his mission. His stomach grumbling serves as a loud reminder. He pushes up and away from McCree’s hold. “Let me up, or we will both surely starve.”

McCree chuckles and lets him loose. He snuggles back under the covers to watch with a sleepy gaze as Hanzo dresses; the drow is plenty aware of McCree’s eyes admiring him from his warm nest. As soon as he gets provisions Hanzo plans on stripping down and returning to that inviting display.

The hall is quiet when Hanzo steps out the door. He considers checking on Genji and Zenyatta to see if they are awake but decides against it. After weeks on the road without a proper bed, Genji needs all the rest he can get. Zenyatta may not sleep in the same manner as the rest of them, but Hanzo is sure he is enjoying the peace and safety as well. Best to leave them be for now.

Tantalizing scents make their way up from the main floor and Hanzo’s stomach growls again, prompting him to head for the stairs. The thought of fresh-baked bread and, if his nose is correct, roasted spiced apples, has his mouth watering. Perhaps he can convince Torbjörn to add some bacon to the menu; McCree is awfully fond of the meat.

His steps falter halfway down the stairs. Unfamiliar voices sound from the main tavern. There are at least three different voices, all speaking Dwarven, and even though Hanzo cannot understand the tongue he can tell the speakers are belligerent. Are they just unruly travelers? Or could they be thieves? Hanzo curses that he left his dagger back in the room and that he was complacent enough to forget it. What if Torbjörn is in danger?

As soon as he thinks it, the familiar brusque accent of the innkeeper barks out a scathing retort in response to one of the foes. Hanzo creeps down the stairs, quiet as a wisp, and eases out until these interlopers are within line of sight.

Just within the foyer are three dwarves and a mountain of a human, all decked out in the trappings of a city guard. Hanzo recognizes the symbol on their tabards as that of Gern Malduhr, the town that turned their party away the night before. They form a loose circle around Torbjörn. There is an overturned serving tray, shards of glass, and ruined food scattered at his feet. He stands proud in the mess and puts out all the signals of someone bored and irritated with their presence. Torbjörn may be unimpressed, but Hanzo is wary. They are all armed, and armored, and clearly looking for a fight.

“Enough,” the human growls, switching to Common. “You’ve been warned, orc fucker. Get rid of those monsters or we’ll get rid of you.”

Torbjörn scoffs, muscles of his crossed-arms flexing as he sizes up the and dismisses the brute with a glance. “My customers are my business, and you’ll do well to keep to your own. This is my side of the mountain, Phenton. Last I checked I was outside your jurisdiction.”

“Town’s expand. Mine’s do, too,” says one of the dwarves, the one with his blonde beard tied in four braids. He smirks at his companions. “We’ll flush him out eventually. Either from above, or below.”

They all laugh loud and cruel, and with their message delivered they make for the door. The shortest of the four, one with dark hair and an unfortunate pug-nose, makes a point of knocking into Torbjörn’s shoulder as he passes. Torbjörn holds his ground, watching them leave with steely eyes. The last one, the red-head with the impressive mustache and a Captain’s crest on his chest, turns back at the door. “Lindholm, do yourself a favor. Clear out the abominations. They turn on you, we’re not coming to your aid.”

“This place will be clean as soon as you lot are gone,” Torbjörn replies, holding his ground.

The departing reply is in Dwarven, but Hanzo can recognize an insult when he hears one. With the door firmly shut behind them, Torbjörn’s brave stance crumbles. Shoulders slumping, he lets out a shaky breath before kneeling to clean the mess on the floor.

Hanzo quietly slips back up the stairs, unnoticed.

 

\---

 

“I shall kill them!”

“Genji.”

“Quite right, Zennie.  _ We  _ shall kill them!”

“We ain’t killin’ anybody,” McCree says, putting a hand up to calm the excitable dryder. 

“I think it should be up for discussion at least,” Hanzo replies.

McCree breathes a long-suffering sigh. “Not helping, darlin’.”

After Hanzo roused them from their respective sleeps, the four dressed and gathered in Genji and Zenyatta’s room so Hanzo could relay what he just witnessed. Anger and indignation abound, and they all seem to be in agreement that something must be done. The severity of their punishment is the problem. Genji always was the more impulsive one. “These foul wretches threaten one of their own, for simply existing and offering a kind hand to those in need. And you wish to let them live?”

“It ain’t a matter of what they deserve,” McCree explains. “If we go’n kill four town guard, what do you think will happen?”

Genji opens his mouth to retort but pauses, unsure, the ramifications slowly occurring to him. “Ah. The town will turn on us. And Torbjörn.”

“We would escape, but we would be leaving a good man to their mercy,” Zenyatta says, his palm pressed flat over the volcanic fissures of the healed wound on his arm. “I have no doubt they would place the blame on his shoulders.”

“And then separate his head from his shoulders,” McCree adds.

“Unacceptable.” Hanzo briefly considers the logistics of just slaughtering the whole town, but alas, that might draw even more attention than necessary. Still, his heart sings for blood. “These four cannot go unpunished.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, then McCree grunts. “They think we’re monsters, right?”

Hanzo raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

McCree meets his look with a devious grin. “Well, maybe it’s time we show ‘em how monstrous we can be.”

 

\---

 

Of the four of them, McCree is the best tracker in an urban setting. If they were searching for these men in the wilds, or the Underdark, then Hanzo would be leading the trail. But as their prey are town guards living in a place where Hanzo, Genji, and Zenyatta stick out like sore thumbs, McCree must find them on his own. They left Zenyatta back at the Drunket Turret to keep an eye on Torbjörn; perhaps it is paranoid to plan for the harassers to return so soon, but they have not survived as long as they have without a healthy amount of distrust themselves.

McCree headed into town in his human guise over an hour ago. Hanzo and Genji, unable to assist in broad daylight, found a suitable look-out up the mountain that offers a decent view of Gern Malduhr. Sitting idle is not the brothers’ style. The two pour their restlessness into keeping watch and lacing their weapons with poison. That and a bit of gossip.

“So. Brother,” Genji starts, deft fingers applying bloodroot to his daggers. He has a lot of daggers. “I feel you have been less than truthful with me.”

“How so?” Hanzo asks. He kneels across from Genji on the rock slab they found to use as a workstation and has laid the arrows in his quiver out in bundles. Unlike Genji, Hanzo prefers a little variety in his poisons. He dips the tip of an arrowhead into Leng’s tears, careful not to spill a drop.

Genji waits until Hanzo sets the first arrow down. “Yesterday when I asked if you two had made peace, falling into bed with him was not what I meant.” 

Hanzo’s silver eyes go wide and he stammers, “I--you--how did you know?!”

A gasp bursts from Genji then he tips his head back and laughs. “Oh how rich! You admit it!”

“What?” Realization dawns. Genji did not know after all. Charcoal skin goes violet in his embarrassment, and Hanzo huffs, going back to his arrows. “You are an ass, Genji.”

His brother is not the least bit phased by the insult. “This is too wonderful! When? How?! We have been traveling close for weeks. Ugh, brother, tell me you have not been sneaking around behind trees to have sex. I know times are desperate but have some dignity.”

“No!” Hanzo squeaks, far too loud. They both wince and duck down, making sure that no guards down in the valley below look their way. “No, we have not been having sex in the woods,” he hisses. Though, he would not say the thought had not crossed his mind. A few dozen times. He goes back to his poisons. “We have only admitted our intentions the night before last. And do not be lewd.”

“It is like you do not know me at all,” Genji sighs, still grinning. “I had wondered how long it would take for you to finally give in. He flirts with you constantly, enough to drive Zenyatta and I mad if we were not so invested.” When Hanzo says nothing, Genji uses one of his spider legs to reach out and gently nudge Hanzo’s thigh. “Anyone can see how enamored the two of you are. I am happy for you.”

A teeny smile finally sneaks out, one Hanzo cannot fight. “Really?”

“Of course I am. Now,” Genji pauses in what must be an attempt at dramatics, leaning forward with intent. “How was it?”

“Genji!”

“Come on! Did he use tiefling sex magic? Was he spawned from an incubus? Succubus? There are sex-demons, you know!”

“I am not about to tell you!” Hanzo laughs, shoving away the spider leg. Let Genji wonder.

With practiced movements he slowly applies powdered starving nettle to the next set of arrows. He raises one to the daylight and admires the fine gold sheen along the surface, a vicious smile stretching over his teeth. Yes, these will do just nicely for what he has in mind.

 

\---

 

Tobias Phenton does not return that night to the room he rents above the Mountain Meadow Bakery. This goes unnoticed by the owners; Phenton often goes merrymaking with his friends in the guard, staying out into the wee hours of the morning determined to match the dwarves drink for drink.

Gesdat Copperheart takes a different path on his patrol around the town perimeter, a strong feeling compelling him to walk deeper into the underbrush beneath thick pine trees.

Agamm Hammeroath waits anxiously under the overhang of The Salty Trout Tavern, unsure of where his late companions may be. He does not see the shadows bend at his back, nor the hands and limbs that reach out, grasping.

Renon Gravelmaul, running in fear through the snow, feels the sharp sting of an arrow as it grazes his arm. He thinks himself lucky that the arrow missed its mark, but then the stars and moon are swimming into his view. The arrow did not miss after all.

 

\---

 

“Are you sure their screams will not be heard back in Gern Malduhr?” Genji asks.

“I’m sure,” McCree says. “We’re so far out, they might could hear somethin’ faint, but we got a south-facin’ cave. The noise won’t project toward town.”

“Hmm. Smart.”

Behind them another shriek echoes out from the small cave Hanzo chose for their makeshift torture chamber. Not that any of them have called it a torture chamber, per say, but they are all thinking it. Only a little torture. Just enough to get the point across.

“He won’t go too far, will he?” McCree asks.

“Oh no. Hanzo was always precise. I am sure he is just amusing himself waiting for the effects to kick in. It should not be much longer, now.”

“Good to hear, good to hear. I mean, they deserve it, but--”

“Zenyatta would not approve,” Genji finishes, understanding but wistful. “I hate when he makes that disapproving face.”

McCree frowns, mind trying to deduce exactly what face Genji might be talking about. As far as he knows, Zenyatta’s face does not emote at all. “Wait a minute, what face--?”

“By the way, I know about you and Hanzo.”

Mouth snapping shut, McCree goes stock still. “Oh?”

“Mmhmm. Hanzo told me.” Genji gives him a long, assessing look. “Hanzo told me  _ everything.” _

McCree meets Genji’s unwavering gaze for a solid fifteen seconds before he smirks. “No he didn’t.”

“No! He did not!” Genji confirms, throwing his hands up in the air. “Not a single juicy detail! What is the point of knowing someone dating a half-demon if they will not tell you anything interesting? You have to tell me, is it true? Do you have a sex aura? Is your saliva like lubricant? What about your secretions--”

“Genji, I swear to the Nine, I am going to feed you to a bugbear if you finish that sentence.” McCree takes a drag of his cigarillo and lets the smoke drift out slow. “You’ve been listening to too many tales from that bard you like.”

“Chastity Morningblush is an amazing orator. You will never understand.” Genji swipes the cigarillo from McCree’s hand and takes a smoke of his own, wrinkling his nose at the harsh flavor and handing it back. “Anyway, I have told Hanzo so I will also tell you, I am happy for you both. Seeing the two of you quarrel for real was not an experience you should repeat.”

“Me neither,” McCree agrees.

“Furthermore, you should know, that since my transformation into this form, my blood and secretions have become quite poisonous.” Turning the bulk of his body to face McCree, Genji takes a few steps forward on his eight legs and towers over the tiefling. “If you ever harm my brother, in mind, heart, or body, I will make sure you die a slow, painful death as your blood boils in your veins. Is that clear, Jesse McCree?”

McCree has to tilt his head back to stare up at Genji. He swallows hard. “Loud and clear, partner,” McCree says, shooting a finger gun up at the dryder.

Light footsteps crush through the pebbles and dirt as Hanzo emerges from the mouth of the cave. He cleans his hands with a cloth that is slowly turning red. “Your turn, Genji.” The dryder scuttles off, the brothers changing places as Hanzo takes a seat where Genji once was. Hanzo twists to call after him, “Remember, no marks!”

“No marks!” Genji calls back, giving a peace sign before disappearing into the cave. A moment later the terrified screams resume.

Hanzo drops the filthy rag at his feet and McCree’s cigarillo gets stolen again. He is far less repulsed by the taste and takes another drag after the first. When he offers it back McCree notices dark red flakes caked around Hanzo’s nails. “You keep it,” McCree says, grimacing. “You look like you did more than mark those men.”

“I closed the wounds,” Hanzo insists, picking at his fingers like a cat might its claws. “It should not have been nearly as messy, but dwarves drink so much.” He shakes his head, chuckling. “Their blood is always so thin.”

McCree hums, watching Hanzo clean his hands. “Gotta be honest with you, pumpkin. Can’t right tell if I’m terrified or turned-on or both.”

Hanzo gets a satisfied little smile on his face and looks up at McCree through his lashes. “When we get back to our room, we shall have to explore that.” He gives his nails one last critical look and gives up, scooting over into McCree’s space. “So, Jesse.”

“So Hanzo?” he parrots, wrapping his arms around Hanzo’s waist.

“Tell me,” Hanzo murmurs, leaning in. “Are you a sex demon?”

McCree grins. “Demon for you, sug.”

Their lips part at the beginnings of what would surely be a perfect kiss, but one of their captives howls like a swamp hag and they both hear a crashing sound, followed by a high yelp. Hanzo stiffens. “Genji?”

“Everything’s fine!” Genji calls. “Just fine! They’re getting feisty!”

Hanzo and McCree look back at each other, shrug, and pick up where they left off.

 

\---

 

“--and we want you to know, you and your-your c-clientele have nothing to worry about, not from the people of Gern Malduhr.”

“Yes. We--that is, they, they want your, uh, patrons, the town would prefer they stay at a distance--”

“Not that we think that!”

“No! No, we wouldn’t mind, of course not--”

“But they, they have their ideas, you know--”

“And if you need anything, anything at all, you send the word.”

“Again, we are very sorry if our, uh, conversation yesterday was-was--uh--”

“Misconstrued.”

“Yes! That. We would  _ never  _ imply anything that might be seen as a threat to you or your fine establishment.”

“It was just a misunderstanding.”

Four heads bob together in agreement. Torbjörn watches them with a bland expression, though inside he burns with equal parts curiosity and glee. “Well, that is mighty tall of you. Thank ye for dropping by to straighten things out.” He shifts his weight to the side so he can see around the support pillar to the long dining table where two of said patrons are eating breakfast. They both quickly look back to their meal as if the eggs and toast he served are the most interesting things in all the Dale.

“Of course. Thank you, for being so understanding,” says the Captain, Gravelmaul, glancing worriedly over his shoulder. Phenton does not even bother for subtly, staring back at the two men quietly eating their breakfast.

Torbjörn considers the group, fighting a smirk. “You sure I can’t entice you to stay for a meal?” A chorus of no’s, some of them stepping back from the bar. “Not even a drink to warm you for the road?”

Gesdat turns positively green. “We must be off!”

They practically flee from the building, Gesdat clutching his stomach and Phenton coughing hard enough to gag. Torbjörn shuts the door behind them then moseys over to his guests, stopping to give them both a knowing look.

“The grub is great this morning, Torb,” McCree says, shoving another piece of bacon in his mouth. Hanzo hums in agreement around a gulp of his drink.

Torbjörn looks back and forth between the two, then pulls out the seat at the head of the table to join them. He snags a hunk of sourdough from the load. “I will have you boys know, I am capable of protecting what’s mine without help from meddlesome busybodies.”

McCree and Hanzo share a look. “We meant no offense,” Hanzo says.

“Yeah, and we know you’ve got things covered, but that lot needed to be put in their place--”

“However,” Torbjörn adds, ignoring them both, “I am grateful, and appreciate the effort all the same.” He relaxes back against the chair. “You and your companions have proved useful. If you’re interested in more than putting the town guards in their place, I may have a work for you.”

“What sort of work?” Hanzo asks at this unexpected turn.

“Something that would be better suited for people with unique skills. Delivering and retrieving items, artifacts. People, on occasion.”

McCree leans on one elbow. “How legal we talkin’ here?”

“Questionable. Nothing awful, I assure you.” Torbjörn looks to Hanzo. “Tell me, what did you do to those men?”

He only hesitates a moment. “Leng’s tears to paralyze them and starving nettle to induce hallucinations and an aversion to food and drink. After that, just introduced them to Genji and let him explain why picking fights with innocent inkeeps was not in their best interest.”

Torbjörn issues a low whistle. “Clever, and creative. Though I wouldn’t call me innocent, laddie.”

Hanzo nods, smiling. “My mistake.”

McCree grabs one of the empty steins nearby and fills it with mead for their host, then tops off their own. “We’ll need to know more about this offer and discuss it with our party before we agree to anythin’. But if the pay’s right, we might just be the men for the job.”

Casual as can be, Torbjörn pulls a pouch from his hip and tosses it on the wood table between them. The purse makes a loud metallic thunk and gold coins spill out. One rolls and falls off the edge of the table, McCree’s quick reflexes snatching it from the air. “I think we will come to an agreement.”

The dwarf departs then, humming to himself as he goes about his chores and leaving them their privacy, offer delivered. McCree rotates the coin in his prosthetic fingers, eyes drawn from the gold to Hanzo. “What do you think, sweet pea?”

Hanzo reaches out, hand passing over the treasure to twine his fingers with McCree’s. Over the past day he has woken up next to an old friend and new lover, dispensed justice to a group of scoundrels, restored the honor of an ally, bonded with his new family, and had a most pleasurable encounter before bed to round out his night. And now, the prospect of a steady income? Hanzo draws McCree’s hand up to his lips to brush a kiss over the knuckles. “I think the year is off to a grand start.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like that and want more, want to check out my art, or just want to chat, come on by my tumblr! You can find me under username wyntera. And if twitter is more your game, come and join me there, just look for @ThreeCatDesigns.
> 
> And hey. Thanks.


End file.
